


After Some Smuggler's Moon

by Onehelluvapilot



Series: Afterwards [3]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Aka guitars made out of air, Caring Finn, Gen, Hurt Poe Dameron, Inappropriate Use of the Force, Leadership lessons with Leia, M/M, New clothes!, Parties!, Poe Dameron Hurts So Prettily, Poe Dameron Is A Mess, Poe-centric, Post-Star Wars: The Last Jedi, Slash is only in a dream sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-10
Updated: 2018-01-10
Packaged: 2019-03-01 12:58:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13295379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Onehelluvapilot/pseuds/Onehelluvapilot
Summary: Poe makes it back home to Yavin IV, and then suddenly he doesn't have to look out for himself anymore.





	After Some Smuggler's Moon

**Author's Note:**

> ....have I ever write anything for this fandom that wasn't angsty fluffy Poe Dameron whump? No, the answer is no.
> 
> I made gravity globes (like from that one [creepy] episode of Doctor Who with the weeping anglers) a thing in this universe because they're cool.
> 
> Medical inaccuracies, but hey, I'm not a doctor and neither are any of these guys. RIP Kalonia. I think. Still have no idea who is alive here. 
> 
> Oh yeah, and anything you think might be a Hamilton reference totally is.

A great cheer went up from the crowd as the new old X wing touched down. Poe hadn't gotten this sort of reception since Starkiller. He knew they were cheering for the ship more than him, but he smiled anyway as he pushed up the hatch up. This was the first step towards assembling a new Resistance fleet. The first real symbol of hope they’d had since Crait. He saw Rose snapping holos from across the field by his father’s house.

The moment was kind of ruined when Poe collapsed as soon as he let go of the ship's ladder, with the first step he tried to take. BB8 was the first to break away from the group and go dashing over to him, followed by Finn one of the two remaining medical staff personnel. The other one ran to the Falcon to attempt to locate where the hell they'd put their meager collection of first aid supplies. The pilot knelt amid the tall grass, bracing himself with his hands clenched into fists and pressed against his legs, which were folded under him and awkwardly out to the sides in the way that he knew was bad for his knees. He was pale, Finn noticed as he knelt down beside the man and grabbed his shoulder, and shaking. The right thigh of his flight suit was bloody and burned. Stained more red than orange.

“I'm alright, buddy,” Poe assured his droid, reaching out to lay a hand on his dome. It left a bloody handprint that made Finn’s stomach churn.

“Hey, hey,” he said, bracing the pilot by the shoulders. The nurse knelt by his other side. “Poe, hey, what happened?”

“I got shot,” he muttered, leaning into his friend’s broad shoulder. “Where's my dad?”

“He's off in the city with Rey and Rose; he'll be back soon,” Finn answered. Everyone else had come back to the house from the various places they were staying to watch Poe bring home the ship, but shopping trips all the way in the other side of the planet could not be cut off halfway. Everyone desperately needed new clothes. “And I can see you were shot; I meant specifically how did you get shot?”

“After I paid for it, the dealer decided he rather not part with his X wing, and sent a couple of thugs to kill me and take the keys back,” Poe explained.

“How long ago was this?” the nurse asked.

“Uh, four hours maybe?” He couldn't really remember. Everything was a bit fuzzy. He felt like he was about to pass out. “Can we do this inside maybe?”

“Oh, uh, yeah, of course,” Finn agreed. The nurse and he helped Poe to his feet, and supported between them got him to the house, passing by the group of people anxiously standing around until Leia said that if they had nothing better to do they should go help out in their war garden or the mechanics should assess the condition of the X wing, rather than stand around gaping at its injured pilot. Poe, to his credit, tried to walk, but his leg didn’t get the memo and wouldn’t support him, so the men on each side of him had to take a lot of his weight. He collapsed onto the dirty old towel they put down on the couch for him as if he was a wet akk dog they were trying to keep from ruining the upholstery.

“Lie him down,” the medic said, practically dropping the crate she'd been carrying as she came in behind them. Finn sat down on the couch and pulled Poe to lie down, injured leg to the outside of the couch, head in the other man's lap.

“I tried to cauterize it with the hot barrel of my blaster, but I think I just made a mess of it,” Poe told them breathlessly. Finn winced, thinking of how much that must've hurt. The pilot's eyes were glassy with pain as he gazed up past him at the ceiling.

“Well, you haven’t bled out, so you must have done something right,” the medic encouraged. She dug through the crate less gently than one would think she should with potentially delicate equipment while the nurse cut away the fabric of Poe’s flight suit around the leg. It was already ruined anyway. She seemed to be getting more and more agitated as she didn’t find what she was looking for. Eventually she gave up with a barked curse.

“What is it?” Finn asked. She looked helplessly at the two men.

“We don’t have any painkillers,” she said softly. “I’m sorry Commander, I should’ve noticed this earlier-”

“It’s alright Angelica,” he interrupted, but his breath hitched at something the nurse did. He wasn’t watching, so the only thing he knew about what they were doing was that it hurt. “Just do whatever you have to do. I can take it.” His grip tightened a little bit on Finn’s hand, though it still wasn’t particularly strong.

“Yes sir,” she agreed with a solemn nod, and it was a testament to how shitty Poe was feeling that he didn’t correct her. Damerons did not like to be called sir.

Leia strode into the room. Even with her cane, strode was the only word for it. Women like her did not simply walk. “Report,” she demanded.

“I’ll be alright General,” Poe piped up. She ignored him.

“He nicked an artery,” the medic said. “Cauterized it semi-effectively, damaging a lot of other tissue in the process, still lost a lot of blood. I can’t imagine the conditions were exactly sanitary, so the biggest danger now is probably infection, and he actually managed to burn some fabric into the wound, which is going to have to be removed.” A little noise caught in the back of Poe’s throat at the concept. “I’ll keep you apprised of the situation, but I think for now you should go.” Obviously she was trying to save Poe’s pride, for which he was incredibly thankful. Leia nodded as her second in command whimpered, and left the room to the nearby kitchen.

“You’re gonna be okay,” Finn assured him, carding his hands through the pilot’s hair in a way that he knew comforted him.

“I know,” he muttered back. “I’ve, gh, I’ve had worse than this. It just… Hurts.” Finn didn't know what to do about that. He didn’t have much experience with comforting.

“What do you want me to do?” he asked.

“Just… distract me,” Poe begged.

Finn didn't know any jokes, didn't have many stories. He'd been told he was a hilariously awful dancer, but he couldn't stand up with Poe in his lap. He couldn't sing, not like the pilot himself could, and he didn't know many songs anyway. With none of these options available, Finn did the only thing he could think of.

The look in Poe’s eyes had changed from pain to wonder as Finn pulled back from the kiss he’d planted on his forehead. He kept up, pressing another one between his eyes, then to the side of his nose, below his eye, his cheek, the corner of his mouth, his top lip, then his bottom. Poe’s pain was apparently forgotten as he arched his back up to kiss Finn back. This wasn’t how he wanted the first kiss between them to go, awkwardly sideways, with him bleeding on his father’s couch, but he wasn’t about to protest.

Despite the attention, he felt himself slipping, fading, falling asleep. Finn’s kisses ceased, replaced by the murmurs of music. He opened his eyes, unable to remember when he had closed them, and realized groggily that no, he was waking up. This was the real world, that had been the dream, not the other way around.

It was dark, with the only light in the room coming from the little indicator lights on BB8’s empty charging station. He was alone. There was no one in the living room or the part of the kitchen he could see into when he craned his neck. He wondered if this was how Finn had felt when he’d woken up: abandoned. He might’ve panicked, thought the First Order had come and taken everyone, if he couldn’t hear a hit Yavin pop song from his teenage years playing outside. Somehow he thought that wasn’t what the galaxy-dominating regime would blast. 

A chair had been pulled up beside the couch, apparently to act as a bedside table for him. On it sat a glass of water and a radio. He didn’t want to call anyone, had a bad feeling that they were treat him in the typical fashion of a patient if they found him lying down. Likely wouldn’t if he managed to get to his feet by himself. He pushed himself up, examining the state of his leg as he did so. It was wrapped in thick white bandages, rather than bacta, because they couldn’t afford that. It ached, sure, and he didn't want to try standing on it, but it was far from agonizing. He took a sip from the water glass, grabbed a hold of the crutches someone had been kind enough to leave lying by his feet, and stood up carefully. As he thought, he could touch his foot to the ground, but to put any more weight on it was painful. He made his way outside towards the music.

It was a party out in the back forty, beneath the Force tree. Gravity globes of dozens of colors had been thrown up among the branches, there was a table heaped with food, and another one with bottles. Some people stood around the edges, but the majority were kicking up dust on the dirt dance floor. It wasn’t a wild party, not by Resistance standards, but it was large. A lot of allies from the surrounding farms had clearly come as well. He wasn’t upset that he’d been left alone inside, because they were having fun out here. When was the last time any of them had had any fun?

Finn was standing off to the side near the back door, watching as Rey and Rose danced in the middle of everything. They, like everyone, were both wearing new, surprisingly fancy clothes. The Jedi’s was reminiscent of the the black robes worn by Luke and Kylo, a distinct change from her usual attire. It had a tight under layer with split skirts covered by a poncho that flared out when she spun. Her hairstyle had changed to one Poe recognized from propaganda posters of Leia during the rebellion, as had Rose’s. The mechanic wore a chrome skirt that would fit in among the casinos of Canto Bight below her First Order officer’s blazer. The clunky cast on her wrist didn’t hamper her when she was working, and it did nothing to diminish her image here. Finn looked absolutely starstruck as he watched the two of them, and Poe was glad that those kisses had just been dreams. It would be a crime to take this young man away from these girls.

“New clothes party?” The pilot asked the ex stormtrooper, surprised when he started, as he thought the sound of crutches would’ve alerted him to the other man’s approach. For the first time, Finn was wearing his own clothes. Not a uniform, not a jacket taken from a crashed ship about to sink into the sand, not a bacta suit, not Poe’s clothes, not another uniform (stolen this time), not an overall borrowed from their neighbors. Clothes that he owned, even if they had been bought with mutual funds. A simple t-shirt, a fleece tied around his waist, and some bright orange pants. Poe was still wearing his flight suit, missing a good chunk of its fabric from the right leg. He wondered if anyone had thought to get hi some new clothes.

“Poe! You’re up!”

“Well, yeah. I wasn’t going to wait around inside if there’s a party out here,” he replied. “What are we celebrating?”

“The X wing,” Finn explained. “Let me get you a chair.” He ran off, came back a minute later with a folding camp chair. Poe sat down carefully once one had been unfolded for him, stretching his leg out in front, setting his crutches down beside. The other man sat down on the back porch steps a few feet away

“So, I have a hole in my leg,” the injured man stated bluntly. “What’s your excuse for not dancing?”

“I’ve never danced before in my life,” Finn explained, a completely hopeless look on his face.

“Well, that’s not a big problem,” Poe said, though he was a little bit appalled. No dancing? One of his first memories was dancing with his parents at a New Year’s celebration. “I’m sure Rey hasn’t had much practice either, and look at her.” The scavenger was tearing it up, laughing and rocking out. He watched as a young pilot showed her air guitar, which she seemed to take to immediately, even if she clearly didn’t quite understand it (as she didn’t stop when a song with no guitar came on).

“I’d never heard music before Takodana.”

Poe looked over at the ex stormtrooper in utter astonishment. No music? None at all? A bright, loud flame reignited in his chest. The First Order was cruller than he had imagined. He couldn't imagine a life without music.

“What do you think of it?” He asked curiously.

“I don’t think I quite understand it,” Finn said.

“Well, that’s okay. Do you like it?” The pilot himself was unconsciously tapping his left foot on the ground in time with the beat.

“I think so.”

“Okay. Remind me later, and I’ll play some more for you,” he said. He’d have to make sure to play a wide variety of genres and artists, and not pass judgement on any of it at first, to let the young man develop his own opinions. He was trying not to unduly influence him. Kes seemed to have taken that role, adopting Finn as almost a second son as he showed him how to be a person. “But seriously, stop being a wallflower. Go hang out with your friends.”

Finn gave him a confused look. “That’s what I’m doing.”

“Okay, thanks, but I meant Rey and Rose.”

“But then you’ll be alone here,” he worried.

I was more alone inside, Poe thought but didn’t say. “Somebody else will come along.”

“Do you need-”

“Finn,” Poe stressed the name, trying not to laugh. “Buddy, I’m perfectly alright here. Stop doting on an old man and go enjoy the party. That’s an order from your commander.”

“Yes sir,” he agreed, but the smile in his voice said he knew was he was doing. He ran off and scooped Rose up off her feet to spin around, then tried to do the same to Rey and apparently got whacked with her air guitar. Poe was wondering if she’d like to learn how to actually play. He was probably going to have a lot of time just sitting around for the next couple of weeks to teach her, what with his leg the way it was. He knew that it would be a long recovery without bacta.

Before he has time to get lonely, Leia and Kes drag some chairs of their own over and sit down on either side of him.

“Kriff, when did I get so old that I’m spending my parties hanging out with you two?” He joked. Or, mostly joked. He knew it wasn’t a factor of his age; rather, it was his rank, his leg, and the fact that there weren’t enough other pilots left for them to form a posse and all get hammered together.

“Hey!” Kes protested while Leia just smiled. “You should feel honored to be an old wallflower with us.”

“I am, Papá,” he agreed, but it was with a sigh. “I’m not sure I entirely deserve it.”

“Poe Dameron, when are you going to stop blaming yourself for what happened?” Leia asked.

“Leia, I remember you doing the exact same thing after the devastation of Hoth,” Kes called her out. His veneer of deference had begun eroding as she promoted and began to rely more on the only other person over forty. 

“It doesn’t help that Luke ran off,” she muttered under her breath before raising her voice. “That doesn't mean it was healthy. And then, the Resistance had other leaders to follow while I found my head. It doesn’t have that now, and it needs you to stop acting like a flyboy.”

“Okay, so, I don’t understand your use of that term,” he replied. “Earlier, Holdo called me that because I didn’t take responsibility for my actions, and now you're using it when I’m trying to do just that.”

“Taking responsibility for things you actually did is very different than taking the blame for what you tried to prevent,” Leia reasoned. “A good leader carries memories but not guilt. You can’t let the past stop you from continuing on. Especially not now.”

“I’m trying,” he sighed. “Leadership on the ground is very different from leadership in the air. I’m not sure if I’m qualified for this.”

“I wouldn’t have promoted anyone who thought they were. Or re-promoted, in your case. I know you’re not as egotistical as you act sometimes.”

“Only in the air, because I really am that good,” he replied with a smirk. “On the ground I just have to pretend I know what I’m doing to get through it without anyone panicking because their commander is a complete moron.”

“Fake it till you make it,” Kes agreed.

“And how long is that?”

“Hell if I know,” Leia said, throwing up her hands. “I’ve been at this forty years, and it seems like every time I get used to my job somebody has to go and die and make me boss.” Poe was really hoping that wasn’t what happened to him. “But hey, I’m pretty sure you can’t be doing worse than everyone else at this point, given how these are the first real smiles I’ve seen since Crait.”

“I should get shot getting us ships more often, if this is what happens when I do,” Poe only half joked. 

“Please don’t,” Kes said with a wince. “I understand that you’re willing to die for the Resistance, but I wish you would consider what it does to me when I walk inside and see you half bled out on the sofa.”

“Sorry Papa,” he sighed. He was glad that neither of them had started babying him as soon as they came over, insisting that he go lie down or some such nonsense.

“No you’re not,” Leia called him out.

“No, I’m not,” he agreed. “I would’ve done the same thing again, even knowing how it turned out.”

“I think I am going to have to give you lessons about tactical value assessment,” she said. “You’re more important than a ship.”

“Yeah, and I turned out fine.”

“You have a very high tolerance for pain, don’t you.”

“Since Kylo, yeah.” Kes gave his son a look, not understanding when he had run into a Sith Lord. “I’ll explain later.” He didn’t want to ruin the party with a discussion of mind rape.

“Just don’t get yourself killed,” Leia ordered.

“Not planning on it sir,” he assured her, and the conversation lapsed. He found himself singing along softly to the next song that came up. Against all the odds, this hadn’t turned out to be a terrible day. He hadn’t bled out, he’d brought the ship home mostly safely, he’d gotten a solid eight hours of sleep for the first time since Jakku (even if it was just because of exhaustion and blood loss) and now he was at a party. By his (significantly lowered as of late) standards, this was actually a good day. He felt himself drifting off again, still weak, surrounded by his peers (how scary was that), and watching his soldiers at a party.

**Author's Note:**

> Love comments. Tell me if you guys want more of this series. I have a few more (worse) fics in the pipeline, with new types of both physical and emotional Poe whump.


End file.
